“James Larson,” I said, my gaze dropping to the simple envelope he held in his hand. It was the same sort of paper that my father had used in his previous notes, and my stomach began to twist even harder. “What a pleasure it is to see you again.”

He stopped and frowned. “How the hell do you know me?”

“You’ve delivered stuff to me before.”

“Huh,” he said. “Can’t remember it.”

Good. It meant Azriel had been successful and my father would not be aware that we’d found his courier.

“How did you know I’d be here?” Surely to god my father wasn’t tracking me that closely.

“Didn’t,” Larson said. “Not exactly. I was told to keep an eye on the building being renovated up the road, because you’d be there sooner or later. Missed you going in, but saw you exit.”

So my father knew about Lucian. Through reading my thoughts? Or had he been aware of Lucian way before I’d even entered the scene? It was an intriguing possibility, and one that raised all sorts of questions, especially when Lucian’s fierce need for revenge was factored in. Maybe it was a bit of a leap, but it was altogether possible that Lucian wasn’t after only the Raziq and the keys. Maybe he’d been using me to get to my father as well.

“How long have you been waiting for me to appear?”

“A few hours.” He shoved the letter at me. “This is yours.”

I took it rather warily, then glanced at Azriel. He rose in one swift movement and touched Larson lightly on the forehead. The shifter stilled and his face went slack. Azriel closed his eyes and I watched the passersby, checking that no one was getting too interested in just what Azriel was doing.

Then he opened his eyes again. “Your father had his Razan deliver the note and, this time, he did not accompany him.”

“You’ve picked the Razan’s image from Larson’s brain?”

“Yes. And the good news is, Larson picked the Razan’s pocket.” He reached inside the rat-shifter’s jacket, slid a wallet from the pocket, and handed it to me.

I flipped it open and pulled out his driver’s license. The Razan pictured was average-looking with blond hair, blue eyes, and a scar running down the left side of his face. Even in the picture, he didn’t look like the sort of man you’d want to double-cross. “According to this, the Razan’s name is Pierre Danton, and he lives in Southbank.”

Which meant he had some money, because that area was expensive, thanks to its close proximity to the city.

“I do not believe the identity will be real,” Azriel commented. “And he has no doubt realized by now that this rat has been through his pockets. He may not be there if we check it.”

“I doubt a rat picking his pocket will overly worry him, other than the inconvenience of having to replace all his cards.” I waved the license lightly. “How come the Raziq’s Razan live in sewers, and my father’s live in plush apartments? And who the hell does the Razan working for the dark sorcerer belong to, given that they all bear the same sort of ownership tat?”

“I cannot explain why one group lives in luxury and the other not, especially as your father is not known for his generosity when it comes to Razan. As to the other question—” He hesitated. “There are many possibilities.”

I raised a querying eyebrow when he didn’t go on. “Such as?”

“It is always possible that either the Raziq or your father works with the sorcerer.”

I frowned. “Both were pretty damn pissed that he got the key rather than them.”

Azriel nodded. His fingers were still resting on the rat-shifter’s forehead, keeping him still and compliant. “But working with the sorcerer does not mean they ever intended him to get his hands on the keys.”

Then the sorcerer had outsmarted them all, and that made him doubly dangerous. “You didn’t mention the third possibility.”

This time he raised an eyebrow. “I was not aware there was one.”

“Lucian.”

“I had not forgotten. I merely discounted him on the basis that the Raziq tore away his power. Thus mutilated, he would not be capable of creating Razan.”

Meaning he hadn’t lied to me about everything. I guess that was something to be thankful for. “So you’re certain he hasn’t got full Aedh powers?”

“I’m certain, yes.” He hesitated. “But that does not preclude the possibility that remnants survive. It is far easier to kill an Aedh than to strip them completely of their powers.”

So maybe I hadn’t been imagining his fingers going through my flesh, after all. I shivered, and wondered what the hell else we didn’t know. A lot, I was beginning to suspect.

I shoved the license back into the wallet, then handed it to Azriel.

“You do not wish Stane to check his identity?” Azriel asked, surprised.

“Yes, but I can remember the name. It’s better if our rat-faced friend doesn’t suspect we went through his pockets.” I slid a fingernail under the seal and opened the envelope. The note inside was brief and to the point—Go to the station. It didn’t say when, so I presumed it meant immediately. I sighed. “You’d better release him.”

He did so, and the rat-shifter blinked. “What about a tip?”

Don’t pick the pockets of scar-faced men who work for would-be dictators. I reached into my pocket, dragged out a two-dollar coin, and flipped it to him.

He sneered. “Oh come on, a chick as classy as you has to have more than that on her. I went without coffee to deliver that note.”

“Take it or leave it,” I said, a touch irritably. I mean, a fucking courier telling me off for being stingy? He was lucky to even get a damn tip considering this wasn’t America and tipping certainly wasn’t the norm. “You were paid well enough to deliver the note, and we both know it.”

“Bitch,” he muttered.

And got a clip over the ear from Azriel for his trouble. “That is not polite language to use in the company of a lady.”

It was a comment that earned another sneer, but Larson wisely refrained from saying anything else and walked away.

“Since when have I been a lady?” I asked, amused.

Azriel held out a hand. “I didn’t say you were a lady; I just said it wasn’t the correct language to use when in the company of one.”

“Ah, that’s all right, then.” I gripped his hand and let him pull me up.

He didn’t release me immediately, and there was concern in his expression as his gaze searched mine. “Are you up to facing your father right now?”

“No, but it’s not like I have any other choice. Besides, the sooner we find the remaining keys, the sooner the madness destroying my life might just go away.”

“Do you wish me to take you there?”

Yes, I thought, I would. If only to soak in the heat of his touch for a few precious moments. But it would also sharpen the gathering tide of frustration and, right now, I really didn’t need that. “I thought we’d agreed that wasn’t a good option.”

“We had, but the note implies haste is required, and traveling the fields is faster than walking. It also taxes your strength less than you taking Aedh form.”

All of which was true. I hesitated, torn between desire and sanity, then shook my head. “Walking will clear my head. But you could go get the locker key for me. It’s on the dresser—”

“I am aware of its location.”

He winked out of existence. I went into a nearby café, grabbed a can of Coke and a couple of sausage rolls, then started walking. I didn’t actually feel like eating, but I had a suspicion that I was going to need the fuel over the next couple of hours.

And it was premonitions like that I could really do without.

Azriel reappeared as I was halfway through my second sausage roll, and handed me the key. “‘Tidy’ is not in your vocabulary when it comes to your jewelry, is it?”

“No, but I thought you said you knew where it was.”

“I knew the location. I did not know it was hidden under a multitude of twisted chains and charms. Do you not have a better method of filing them?”

“I do, but it involves walking into the closet. It’s easier to simply dump them on the dresser as I’m taking off my clothes.”

“That is not logical.”

“A rather common problem with me, I’m afraid.” I finished the sausage roll and dumped the paper in the nearest bin as we walked past it.

“True.” He was close enough that his shoulders occasionally brushed mine and, as I’d feared, every brief touch had longing coursing through me. But as much as I wanted to step away, I didn’t. I needed the comfort of those too brief moments, if only because the heat of contact went some way toward combating the chill of gathering fear.

It took nearly ten minutes to walk down to Southern Cross Station, which was a riot of noise and bodies thanks to the fact that peak time was approaching. We made our way through the crowd, but my footsteps slowed as I neared the locker room.

“Your father is not waiting within,” Azriel said.

Something I already knew because I couldn’t feel the power of his presence, but that didn’t erase the churning in my gut. “What about Razan?”

“There are a number of humans, but no one else.”

I took a deep breath that did little to bolster my flagging courage, then forced my feet forward. No one looked at us, let alone attacked us. I’m not sure why I’d expected otherwise—Azriel had already said there was no one dangerous here. Paranoia, it seemed, might be becoming a staple in my life.

I stopped in front of the locker and stared at it. Which wasn’t exactly getting us anywhere, but I just couldn’t force my hand up to shove the key into the lock.

Azriel gently took it and did it for me.

What we discovered was another square ward roughly the size of a tennis ball.